I Survived Abuse And You Can Too

Back in April 2005, I met someone who would change my life. It wasn't kismet or even a meet-cute. Instead, Livejournal played an integral role in our connection. It brought us together in an unusual way, at least for me.

Wayne* was a student at a Detroit college and had a reputation for being very opinionated. Something that we had in common. When I stumbled across his profile, it appeared that a group of people was bullying him. There was name-calling from them and cries of foul from him.

I had to step in.

It was my hero complex. My belief is that even if they came for me, I could handle it. After all, part of being blunt and speaking my mind meant also developing a thick skin. And these were strangers on the internet; what did their opinions matter?

After standing up for him, Wayne and I began to talk. Online, he was charming and flirty. It seemed like a great match. We kept up with one another with quips and one-liners, and there appeared to be a spark of romantic interest from both of us.

Each member of the group I thought was bullying him reached out to me individually. They all warned me that I didn't know what I was getting into, that Wayne was not the guy I thought he was. He was dangerous and a menace.

I should have listened to them.

Constant Edge

Wayne and I had sex on our first date. After was the first time he told me that he loved me. He was adamant that we were soulmates and were destined to meet. I did my best not to get swept up in the sea of love he sent me.

But I failed.

It didn't take long for me to follow suit despite friends warning me that there seemed to be something off with him. For at least one friend, I wrote it off as jealousy. Something age has taught me could have been true, and my friend might have also picked up on something that seemed weird or dangerous. The two are not mutually exclusive.

The first time he hit me was a week after we started dating. I was getting ready to move and get things together; he came over expecting things that weren't possible at the drop of a hat.

Being told no offended him. We stood in my kitchen, and he slapped me so hard that I turned around. Furious, I hit him back and tossed him out on his rear end.

This should have ended the relationship. Logically, I realized that this connection could not last with violent tendencies. But back then, I didn't know that's not how these things go.

After speeding away from my house, I thought he was gone for good. But he came back a few minutes later. He was loaded to bear with ice cream, chocolates, and pizza this time. He apologized and swore that it would never happen again. It was just a mistake, and couldn't I just forgive him.

And I did. Time after time, I forgave him.

Broken Spirit And Body

Time after time, I am asked how someone like me could have gotten into a relationship like this; it's unbelievable. Despite police records and a court case, most people still say that it's hard for them to imagine.

The truth of the matter is that Wayne destroyed my self-esteem. He would give backhanded compliments like, "I like my guys with some extra meat on their bones." Or "you don't need a college degree to be smart like me."

On the surface, those things seem nice, but digging deeper, he wanted me to drop out of college. It took up a lot of time, especially since we moved to Detroit and my school was in the suburbs. He refused to take me, so I had a 2-hour bus ride each way. Eventually, between the commute, being hit, and trying to work full time, I did drop out.

I also stopped talking to a lot of my friends. More and more, I was isolated and by myself.

The more alone I was, the more frequent the beatings were. Sometimes, Wayne was set off by nothing more than me blowing my nose. Other times, he was angry that dinner wasn't made or I was late getting home.

Along with the frequency, the violence ratcheted up as well. He went from punching or slapping me to trying to smother me with a pillow and holding a knife to my throat.

I resigned myself to the fact that he was going to kill me. Where was the hero complex that thought I could save anyone? Maybe it was I could save everyone but myself.

Hope Isn't Lost

Something should have told me that this wasn't how my story would end. I should have known that there was something tougher underneath it all. But at the moment, all I knew was that each day I woke up and was alive was a blessing.

With each escalation, there was a subsequent escalation of gaslighting and compliments. Often he would try to tell me that he didn't say something, despite me hearing it. He would say that I was overreacting to situations like him using the rent money to go to the bar.

Once he was arrested for hitting me and pressing the knife to my throat, he tried to tell the arresting officers that I had stolen his credit card. They questioned him about the credit card because they found it in his wallet.

I didn't call the cops when he was arrested. A neighbor heard me screaming, begging for my life, and he called the police. They arrived in time to save me.

Wayne resisted arrest, making things worse for him. The officers got him in handcuffs and took him to the local jail, where he stayed for three days until his bond hearing.

After the arrest, I went to the neighbor's apartment and thanked him. He gave some sage advice; I needed to find myself again. And I needed to get as far away from Wayne as possible. Both took a long time.

A friend went to the trial with me. I feared having to tell my story; in my mind, the jury and everyone present would see nothing but a weakling who let his lover push him around.

But it was all for naught; Wayne pleaded guilty. Not because he thought that what he did was wrong, he told Facebook that he took the plea deal because he didn't want to go to jail.

Light At The End Of The Tunnel

Seeing that post, which a friend of his made sure I saw, sent me into a spiral. But then I recognized what was happening. It was more gaslighting. He didn't take the deal because he was coerced or to avoid jail; he did it because he knew what he did was wrong.

All he wanted to do was wreck me, wreck my life.

To that end, Wayne reached out to several of my friends and alleged that I had multiple personalities. He also claimed that I slept with his father, and the breakup was because of my infidelity.

Never mind that he pleaded guilty to domestic violence. Never mind that other people heard and saw what he did.

Going to therapy and joining support groups helped me through the darkest days of my life. I learned that I survived the ordeal not because he didn't kill me but because I was strong enough to withstand it.

And yes, he broke me, but I am not broken. There are pieces of me that I am still working on bringing back, but the mosaic of me now is much more beautiful than it ever was before.

*Wayne is not his real name. Per journalistic and publishing standards his name has been changed.